


Kiss Prompts: January 2020

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: A collection of kisses between Shin and Drifter.
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	1. Back of the Hand Kiss

It was hard to say who initiated what first, but Shin wasn’t going complain if Drifter wanted to be on his knees and between Shin’s legs. Shin didn’t put up a fight, didn’t have it in him anyway after a heated Gambit match with a group of Drifter’s seasoned players. His breathing still hadn’t settled, and there was a slim chance it was going to any time soon.  
  
They were on one of the transmat zones, Shin standing in the middle of the triangle while Drifter made himself more comfortable at the outer edge. The Derelict’s Ready Room hummed along with Drifter around him, making it hard for Shin to hear what was background noise and what was Drifter.  
  
Drifter’s mouth made quick work of him, despite the lazy pulls and savoring, indulgent licks. It was just as well. Shin didn’t think he could stand still for much longer without rolling his hips or adjusting his stance.  
  
Shin reached out, fingers digging into Drifter’s short hair. He saw Drifter’s eyes flicker up at him for a moment, and Shin couldn’t tell if Drifter liked it or not. Didn’t move though, so Shin kept his hand there, gripping Drifter’s hair tighter and tighter until his vision blurred.  
  
Drifter only pulled away once Shin had finished shuddering into his mouth. Shin looked down at him, post-blowjob bliss making him slow, and he didn’t notice his fist still holding on to Drifter until Drifter’s rough fingers circled around his wrist in warning.  
  
Shin let go of his hair, fully expecting for Drifter to release his wrist. Instead, Drifter leaned forward, pressed a quick kiss to the back of Shin’s hand, and stood up.  
  
It was a gesture so casual and thoughtless Shin almost wondered if he imagined it in his haze, or if Drifter just wanted to wipe his mouth that way. While Drifter clambored back up to his platform, Shin actually had to glance down at the hand that was kissed, like he was expecting a damp messy mark — or something seared onto his skin to prove that it happened.  
  
“What?” Drifter prompted, having procured a bottle of water from his inventory. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Shin as he took a swig from the bottle.  
  
Shin’s pants were still undone. He did them up for the excuse to not look so stunned. “Nothin’,” he said, determined not to feel too much of everything. “Good game.”  
  
“Well, your dick was nice, too, I guess.” Drifter held up the bottle. “Water?”  
  
Shin held up his hand to catch it, and then reminded himself all over again of Drifter’s lips on that hand.  
  
The water bottle nearly clocked him in the head.


	2. Kiss on the Throat

Vale had cornered Hope for the night, eyes dark and hands insistent. The night didn’t start out this way — they’d been with the other Dredgens, talking and debating and planning — then Vale beckoned Hope into another room, small. Quiet. Away from the others.  
  
All the Dredgens saw the clear invitation. All their eyes had swung over to Hope, waiting for his answer, and Hope would’ve given a life just to be able to tactfully bow out without drawing any more attention to himself.  
  
But, there were expectations, and one of them rarely involved telling Vale no. At least, not in front of anyone. Hope had the fleeting suspicion that if he had said no, Vale would’ve just shrugged it off, but would’ve left Hope with all the ribbing and sneers from the others.  
  
So Hope followed Vale into that dark room, let Vale close in on him as if they were only continuing their conversation on mixing Hive runes with Light. All the while, Hope’s chest grew tight with anxiety and anticipation.  
  
Vale was deadly as he was alluring, that he couldn’t deny, and when all of Vale’s focus was all on him, Hope felt the fear burn up his spine like hard liquor. He tilted his chin up, throat bared, and Vale leaned in, teeth flashing in the weak lamplight.  
  
Hope expected it to sting like a bite from a venomous bug, he expected bruises and marks, and Vale pinning him down to claim him.  
  
Instead, a soft brush of lips at his neck, another below his jaw, and Vale stepped away.


	3. Kiss on the Spine

The room is too warm by the time Shin pulls out from Drifter, chest heaving and forehead pressed to the back of Drifter’s neck. The aftershocks of pleasure make him leave a careless trail of kisses down Drifter’s sweat-slicked back, and Drifter mumbles something into his arm, face down and spine curving the lower Shin goes. Shin stops at his mid-back, gives Drifter’s ass a satisfied pat, and eases up.  
  
His hand is still resting on Drifter’s backside when Drifter’s mumbling becomes a little clearer, still muffled, but Shin definitely hears his name and then a quiet, _“No, don’t stop.”_  
  
Shin pauses. He glances at Drifter’s ass, the mess between his legs and the sheets beneath them, and then at his own dick, which is, as humble as he is, probably done for now.  
  
“You’re friskier than usual,” Shin comments. He blows out a sigh, and tries to think of dirty thoughts to get him going again. Damn, he’s just plain sleepy now. “Gimmie ‘bout ten minutes.”  
  
There’s an indignant sputter from Drifter’s end of the bed. His shoulders hunch up, but he’s not looking back at Shin. In fact, judging from Drifter’s reddening ears and neck, Shin figures he only wants to sink and disappear into the mattress for whatever reason.  
  
“Or,” Shin tries again, “if y’got _something else_ that’ll make do—”  
  
“Fuck. No. Not sayin’ I wanna go again,” Drifter grits out, face still buried. He waves a hand back, annoyed. “Forget I said anything.”  
  
Easier said than done. Shin retraces his memory, meandering and hazy, and it really can’t be anything other than fucking. He hadn’t done anything unusual, until they were done and Shin was content enough to put his mouth—  
  
Shin frowns. He lowers himself back over Drifter, and uses the way Drifter tenses up to confirm what he thinks. From there, Shin presses a couple of kisses down Drifter’s back.  
  
He feels rather than sees Drifter scrunch himself up again, likely embarrassed and uneasy, and some small part of Shin echos the same wariness, like this whole interaction can’t be real, or trusted.  
  
“Was it this?” he asks over Drifter’s skin. He leaves another kiss right between the shoulder blades. “C’mon. I ain’t here for a guessing game.”  
  
Drifter’s reply comes through gritted teeth like Shin’s trying to wrench the answer out of him. “Yeah. That.”  
  
There’s a lot of things Shin could say in return — _never figured you for the soft type, never thought you’d ask for this, I shouldn’t be allowed to know_ — but he only makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement and kisses down Drifter’s spine again.  
  
Drifter lifts his head. Shin can tell he’s trying to glance behind him, and Shin is sure the second he looks up Drifter will turn away. So he doesn’t. Just rests his forehead against Drifter’s flushed skin for a moment, not quite nuzzling, but not still enough say that he’s stopped moving all together.  
  
Drifter goes back to mumbling into his arm. “Yeah,” he says, “I like it. When you…” he mutters off, but by now Shin gets the gist of it. Drifter might not see it, might never believe it, but Shin’s burning too, from the inside out.  
  
They aren’t going to catch each other off guard again for a long time. Shin brushes one last kiss at Drifter’s neck before flopping down beside him, and closes his eyes to Drifter’s weight pressing close.


	4. Pelvic Bone Kiss

“Oh,” says Drifter, taking a hold of his dick and maneuvering it away from Shin’s mouth. “Oh, no. Nuh-uh. Not today, pal. I change my mind.”  
  
Shin’s left with his jaw hanging open like a dog whose bone got taken away. He even edges closer like he still wants to have a go at it, but Drifter shifts his hips from those lips. Shin’s lucky Drifter doesn’t just slap him with his half hard erection, but that would probably do more damage on Drifter’s end than Shin’s.  
  
“But—”  
  
“Shave then,” Drifter says, reaching down, and Shin looks like he wants to duck his head under his hand, but Drifter only scratches at the reddening spot on his inner thigh. “Or die and rez with a clean face.”  
  
Shin looks like he wants to say a lot of things, and doesn’t have enough breath to say it. He leans close, and Drifter’s back his back to the wall and nowhere to go. To his credit, Shin keeps his damn stubble a respectful distance away from Drifter dick, only nuzzles and mouths a bit at the soft juncture of Drifter’s upper thigh. “Sensitive?”  
  
Drifter jerks at the rough brush over his skin. “Hey. Stop that. Your five o’clock’s got some splash damage. Look, either get a moisturizer or, or— _ga-ah!_ ”  
  
Shin’s body collapses at his feet, gunshot ringing through the Derelict, hole through Shin’s head. Drifter’s erection, for all its heroic attempts of the night, checks out quick.  
  
A second later, Shin rezzes good and new and clean-shaven. He looks a little put out by the state of Drifter’s limp dick, but damn, Drifter must have the best one in the galaxy to go shooting yourself through the head for.  
  
“Better?” Shin asks, like he’s being reasonable.  
  
Drifter stares down at him. There’s Shin’s gun resting at their feet, as if Shin’s anticipating the possibility that Drifter’ll ask him again to go rez back with different facial hair.  
  
It’s fucked up. Real fucked up. Drifter tries to tell himself this instead of being stupidly charmed like an idiot.  
  
“Dunno,” he says, finally putting his hand on Shin’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. He catches a glimpse of Shin’s wry smile before he drags Shin closer, so that Shin’s lips can brush at his skin. “Why don’t you try again?” 


	5. Shoulder Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda had this sitting around since the [pre-Season of Dawn lore drops](https://www.bungie.net/en/Explore/Detail/News/48436), but wasn't sure where to go with it. Just pretty much the world's worst pillow talk, really.

One of the few good things about Shin Malphur is that he minds his own damned business. Most of the time, he’s got the good habit not meddling in things he has no right to get his hands in. The moon? Nah. Calus? No thanks, says Shin.  
  
‘Course, this depends on what Shin considers his business. Drifter’s got several opinions on the matter; mainly, Shin oughta find somewhere else to stick his nose in other than Drifter’s business. Or his bed.  
  
“So. That Sundial,” Shin says, after they’ve done each other the courtesy of fucking before talking. He rolls on his side, lazy and content like a cat under the sheets.  
  
Drifter grunts. No use denying he had a hand in getting it up and running. Still has Mercury sand in his boots for all the trouble, and Osiris’ Obelisks are going to be popping up everywhere soon, each one of ‘em like a nail to a coffin that Osiris refuses to see.  
  
Not that it matters much. The Sundial might be working but that’s half the battle, if Osiris really wants to get Saint back.  
  
“Yeah, got paid pretty well for QA work,” Drifter lies; he still hasn’t collected. He’s not sure if he will any time soon. “You two know each other?”  
  
Shin shakes his head. “Seen him ‘round during Consensus meetings back when he was Vanguard, but not since,” he says, too flippant, which likely means the real answer isn’t one he wants Drifter knowing. “We ain’t close, if that’s what you’re getting at.”  
  
Drifter snorts. “Don’t think that asshole’s close to anyone.”  
  
“Well, there was Saint-14,” Shin muses, and his usage of the past tense hints that he’s kept his nose out of Osiris’ business. He turns onto his back, making the bed space that much smaller.  
  
Drifter knows that move. He either gets up or turns Shin’s arm into a pillow. He shifts his head so that he’s resting against Shin’s upper arm while weighing the pros and cons of giving away what he knows. In the end, he shrugs, nudging them closer. “You know why he built it? The Sundial?”  
  
“Eh. Stop the Vex and all that,” says Shin, sounding momentarily distracted by Drifter’s movements. He settles. “Been at it for centuries. He didn’t tell you?”  
  
“To bring Saint back.”  
  
Shin’s eyebrows raise up. Drifter doesn’t think Shin is much surprised.  
  
“Interestin’,” is all he says, like he’s getting drowsy and probably bored of the conversation.  
  
“Can’t imagine goin’ that far for someone,” Drifter mutters. “No one’s that important, _that_ much of a pinnacle.”  
  
“Pragmatic guy like Osiris, funny to see him revolve around one person.” Shin yawns. “Couldn’t be me.”  
  
Drifter lifts his head at that. Before he knows it, a bark of laughter escapes from him. “Couldn’t be you? Malphur, you threw in your whole existence for one person.”  
  
There’s a breath of silence from Shin, like he’s trying to process what Drifter is saying. His expression goes carefully blank. “What the hell do you mean?”  
  
“Might not be outta love, but you can’t think of one other person you went nuts over?”  
  
“ _Love_?” and it’s as close as Drifter’s ever heard Shin sputtering. His face is starting flush red, and Drifter does the mental gymnastics to realize that Shin’s got it all wrong.  
  
“Don’t be fucking brainless. Ain’t talking about me,” Drifter says, swatting him. “I was talking ‘bout Yor.”  
  
The entire temperature of the room drops five degrees cooler. Not shocking.  
  
“You and Osiris? Same bullshit,” Drifter continues, and he checks back the smart aleck comment that Shin’s probably got as many identities as Osiris has Echoes. “‘Cept you suck at math.”  
  
Good news; Shin hasn’t shot him yet, which means he’s turning over what Drifter’s said. Hard to get righteously pissed when you’re naked and well-fucked. Besides, Drifter knows he’s right; Shin’s had his whole miserable life wrapped in up a single person, chasing and changing and scheming, everything he’s done as Vale and Orsa — it all leads back to Yor. Obsession isn’t the right word. Dedication isn’t either. But Shin’s silence confirms that he gets what Drifter is saying. The lengths Osiris will go to bring Saint-14 back is just about the same distance Shin will go to keep Yor dead.  
  
Drifter doesn’t want to soften that particular blow, he won’t apologize for it, but he turns his head to brush his lips at Shin’s shoulder as a little extra insurance, in case Shin does feel like jamming his gun where the sun don’t shine.  
  
Eventually, Shin’s low voice makes it to his ear. “What're the odds he’ll bring Saint back?”  
  
“Never thought he actually died,” Drifter confesses, throwing a leg over Shin’s, “but if he does, it’ll come with a lot of consequences.”  
  
Shin lets out a single huff before shutting his eyes. “It always does.”


	6. Inner Thigh Kiss

“Always wondered how far I could get the Man with the Golden Gun to bend over backwards for me.”  
  
Shin’s knees are practically to his ears, legs in the air with Drifter’s warmed hands pushing against the back of his thighs. His ass is wet with slick and spit. His dick twitches, done for ages already. There’s only the mess on his stomach and Drifter smirking between his legs.  
  
Shin says, grimly, “Fuck you.”  
  
Drifter laughs, a touch wild at the edges. Shin wonders if he’ll have to finish him off, but Drifter seems to have taken care of himself in between eating Shin’s ass and mocking him.  
  
“You’re more flexible than you look, just sayin’,” Drifter hoots, and Shin can’t figure out what’s up with his good mood. Probably from all that ass-eating. Hell, it puts Shin in a good mood half the time too.  
  
He’s still in this stupid position though, and all the flexibility in the world ain’t gonna help when Drifter pushes so far down he’ll end up pulling a muscle. Shin pushes his legs back.  
  
“What are you, admiring the view?” Shin grunts. Fucking asshole. Literally.  
  
“So what if I am? Can’t a guy take pride in his own work?” Drifter shoots him a nasty leer, licking his lips, showing off his stupid, clever, slick tongue that feels way too good. He lowers his head, and Shin thinks he might be going for seconds, but Drifter’s lips hit the inside of Shin’s thigh instead. “Mm!” he says, like he’s enjoying another treat, and kisses the skin there again, playful.  
  
Shin’s fingers dig into the mattress, mad for no good reason and burning red from it, but he stops pushing back. 


	7. Hip Kiss

It was weird being in a bed with Shin that could actually fit two people for once. No flimsy bedroll, no frozen cot on the Derelict. An actual bed.  
  
Well, a Cabal bed. But beggars couldn’t be choosers when the first bed quarters they’d found in the Quarry turned out to be empty of enemies. Might as well lock the doors and set op camp here.  
  
Everything was just slightly too big in the room. The panels, the furniture. Normally, Drifter would hole himself up in Psion-sized lodgings but hindsight was a bitch and Drifter wasn’t about to go out and boot some more Cabal out of their quarters at night.  
  
He hopped on the bed, sank in, and laid there.  
  
Must be a Centurion’s bed, given how huge it was. Very sparse, with a rounded pillow and a functional blanket that was neither threadbare or luxurious. All in all, could be worse.  
  
“That’s the head of the bed.” Shin pointed, ruining the moment. “You’re layin’ on it sideways.”  
  
“Listen pal, I’ve slept under two Cabal shields propped together in acid rain. I don’t give a damn which way a Cabal’s ass hits the mattress. Sleep on the floor if it bothers you so much.”  
  
Shin made a noise, meaning he didn’t want to put in the effort of arguing. He stripped off most of his armor, leaving himself in his innerwear and a bundled cloak since Drifter did the honors of taking the Cabal pillow.  
  
Scratch that, Shin climbed into the bed and laid his head across Drifter’s stomach before he could roll away.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Shin glanced at him, tired-eyed, and planted a kiss at Drifter’s hip. Just the one, a light pressure that managed to sear through Drifter’s robes and belts anyway. “Hey _what?_ ”  
  
Drifter grumbled, nudging Shin’s head off, turned himself around, and laid the right damn way.  
  
“Happy now?”  
  
Must’ve been. Shin drew him in for a proper kiss, mouth warm against his, and Drifter thought, _what a waste_ , and scooted close, leaving plenty of space on the bed to spare.


	8. Outer Thigh Kiss

The last of Drifter’s control snaps clean in half when Shin swallows down his cock without leaving a drop behind to be cleaned up after. Drifter grips Shin’s thighs hard enough to bruise, and his tongue momentarily forgets how to function, working around Shin’s entrance. It’s insanely hot, in every sense of the word, and Drifter thinks he might choke from it.  
  
Lucky for him, Shin doesn’t seem to mind Drifter drooling and making a mess between his asscheeks — he only pushes himself back into Drifter’s face with a strangled moan that would’ve made Drifter bust one out if he hadn’t already.  
  
The pleasure high makes it kinda hard to wrangle even two brain cells together, but Drifter manages to put forth the heroic effort of taking Shin’s dripping cock in his hand, giving it a few merciless pulls, and finish Shin off. Shin’s string of curses are loud and echoing as he spills over Drifter’s already wet chest.  
  
For a moment, they just catch their breath.  
  
Then, victoriously, Drifter says, _“Nice.”_  
  
He doesn’t have to see Shin’s face to know Shin’s pulling a pained expression at that. The way his head slumps from his shoulders is telling enough, though other than that, Shin hasn’t moved much after getting smacked over the head by his orgasm.  
  
Speaking of getting smacked — Drifter slaps the meat of Shin’s thigh to get him to move before he collapses on top of him. For a second, he feels Shin’s overworked muscles, still trembling and slick with sweat. For once, Drifter’s hand burns on its own, _hot hot hot_ —  
  
Shin sucks in a breath from the sting and lets it out with a grunt. He tumbles gracelessly to the side, narrowly missing Drifter anyway. He reaches down to rub at the reddened hand-shaped print on his thigh.  
  
“Ow,” Shin says, belatedly.  
  
Drifter snorts. And it must’ve been the post-orgasm making him goofy as fuck, but the only easiest thing he can think of is to turn his head and kiss it better.

**Author's Note:**

> For more kiss fics with other pairings: [lyricalt](http://lyricalt.dreamwidth.org/)@DW


End file.
